by Aaron Niz
There are a couple of older alumni brothers who may challenge him on this.
Claiming beds, like everything else in the brotherhood, is part of the unwritten rules that tend to go by seniority but also status, and occasionally physical toughness.
Someone who is younger but willing to actually fight for his bed or his place in line will usually win out over the claim of seniority from a weak, timid older brother.
But I don’t really care about the brother hierarchy, and neither does Neil. Both of us head downstairs and throw our shit on two tiny twin beds.
Then it’s back upstairs to take in the scenery.
I go out on the deck, crack open a beer—we brought a thirty pack of Bud Light just to start things off—and survey the territory.
From up here, I can see the winding dirt road we traveled up to get here and some trails sprouting off it that squiggle their way through the forest. That’s probably the most striking thing after being in the city for so long though. Just how much dense forest there is around us. We’re surrounded by eye-popping, lush greenery, for as far as the eye can see.
Living in the city, you start to believe that the entire country is just full of houses and apartments, buildings, streets, people. Out here you can start to feel just the opposite.
That human beings are simply little flies on the back of a gigantic beast who barely knows we exist.
My beer is lukewarm with an aftertaste reminiscent of stale crackers. I don’t actually love the taste of beer, never have, but I don’t mind getting drunk now and again.
“Got one for me?” Neil asks, walking out onto the deck with his hands stuffed in his pockets.
“You can’t reach down and grab one yourself?”
“Huh?” He stares at me with his crooked gaze.
Sometimes I forget that his hearing is wonky too.
I point to the carton lying on the deck and he grabs a can out of it, pops the tab and guzzles half in one draught. His long hair blows in the breeze.
We toast to trip and then he joins me in looking over the railing and taking in the surrounding countryside. Soon Tyler comes out and does the same.
“Kind of nice, aint it boys?” he says, clapping Neil on the shoulder.
“Definitely,” I tell him. I’m glad his mood is improving.
“The calm before the storm,” Neil says.
I look at him and for a moment a feeling of dread envelops me, but I shake it off and have another long drink of beer.
***
The next car of brothers arrives less than an hour later, screeching to halt in a cloud of dust behind Tyler’s Rav 4.
The first man out of the car is Dale Hetridge, a bundle of furious energy. He looks just like I remember him from when he pledged me. Short, muscular, his dark hair mussed and his eyes glimmering with mirth and mischief.
He sees us hanging out on the deck and points up in my direction.
“Gabe, you are a fucking dead man. Get your skirt off and put on your big boy pants, because I’m coming for you when we play Three Man tonight!” Tyler whistles. “I’m glad I’m not you.”
“Whatever,” I shrug, but have to admit, Hetridge’s threat, even made in jest, brings back that nervous tension I’ve been feeling.
The two other alumni brothers travelling with Hetridge shout similar threats about showing us younger guys how trip is REALLY done.
When they get upstairs, the two brothers introduce themselves to me with our fraternity’s secret handshake. Eli Grover is thin, tall, with soft features and thinning brown hair. I instantly like him. When Hetridge starts trying to talk trash again, Eli quips effortlessly, “Christ, having a Napoleon complex must be fucking exhausting.” Hetridge is about to reply, then seems to think better of it. He leaves to go search for a bedroom to stow his gear.
Roger Stuttgart—aka Stutty—must be the oldest brother at the cabin. He’s heavyset, with a receding hairline and deep, fleshy bags under his eyes. He’s friendly but a little on the quiet side. His demeanor is almost uncomfortable, maybe because he’s old enough to be our dad.
But a brother is a brother. On trip everyone is equal (although some are more equal than others). We’re all continuing to drink, but I’m pacing myself because the festivities haven’t really even begun yet.
***
“Three man!” The group of brothers shouts in unison.
I belch and tip the can to my lips, drinking my beer--which might as well be carbonated water at this point. I’ve stopped tasting it and started guzzling it unquestioningly.
Hetridge has made good on his word to come after me during the traditional Friday night drinking game of Three Man. It’s a dice game where the designated “three man” has to consume large amounts of alcohol, try not to throw up, and find a way to quickly relinquish his mantle to the next brother.
Hetridge was the first Three Man in the game, but it lasted all of about five minutes. He quickly rolled a three on his turn and looked at me with his beady brown eyes. “Gabe, I told you I was going to bring the pain,” he said, handing the pair of dice to me with a crooked smile.
And he has in fact brought the pain.
Thank god I paced myself earlier because I’m going to need every ounce of my reserves to get through this ordeal.
Not all brothers are participating, though. Tyler sat out. He’s sitting on a couch chatting with Randall. Randall is more of a pothead than a boozer.
Randall scored the magic mushrooms for the trip. He keeps dropping hints that these are some seriously good ‘shrooms. But nobody will be able to find out just how good until tomorrow when he starts doling out the medicine. It’s a whole process, a ritual, and Friday night is not the time for hallucinations and madness. Tonight is all about good old-fashioned frat hijinks.
After finishing my third or fourth beer since starting this horrific game of Three Man, I’m able to roll a three and get rid of my title. I pass the official Three Man hat—a ten-gallon Stetson with a green penis drawn on the front of it—back to Hetridge.
“I think you broke the record for the longest stint as Three Man in a single game,” he says, with something resembling respect.
I breathe a sigh of relief. “I’d like to thank the Academy, and everyone who supported me during my…” And then it’s all coming up, out of nowhere. I bolt for the back deck as the other brothers burst into applause from inside the house.
Just barely making it to the railing, I heave my guts over the ledge. Beer pours out of me in quantities I didn’t know could exist in the human body at one time. It spews out of my nostrils, pours from my mouth. Comes up in a gush, like I’ve struck oil, and the sounds are amazing, as if my body is trying out for a death scene in a zombie movie.
Primal grunts, howls, barfing sounds.
I close my eyes after the second or third wave of puking, lay my head on the railing. Suddenly I feel a kick in the ass. And another. And another.
I turn around to see Hetridge, grinning at me, his eyes wide with delight. “Take that, Gabe, you smarmy motherfucker.”
I wipe my hand across my mouth. “What’s your problem? Can’t you see I’m sick out here?”
“Only pussies puke from a little drinking game,” he giggles. “Anyway, we’re going out on the town to get some poontang. So stop your barfing and get some nice duds on to impress the ladies.” He claps his hands like an impatient drill sergeant.
I’m confused. “Going out? On trip?”
But he doesn’t answer. He walks back inside. I turn and spit over the railing.
Brothers are arguing in the living room when I get back inside.
Tyler is shaking his head, arms crossed. He’s got a huge joint in one hand and it’s smoking lazily as he talks. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he says.
“I’m not kidding you,” Hetridge says. “Time to get out of this cock cabin and go find some pussy.”
“This is trip,” Tyler says. “It’s always been just brothers.”
“Stop being
such a little fag.”
Eli raises his eyebrows at this. “Who are you calling a fag you little gnome?” Hetridge chuckles. “Relax your panties, bitch.”
“Stop trying to make up for your feelings of inadequacy by fucking every nasty skank in sight and maybe you won’t pick up anymore STDs,” Eli says.
“I’m certified clean, I’ll get a physical right the fuck now.” Randall coughs. “Okay, okay. Everybody just calm the fuck down.” I belch and for a moment consider running outside to vomit over the railing again.
But then the feeling passes. Still, I don’t exactly feel up for a night on the town with brothers.
“I’m going to get some tail,” Hetridge announces. “That’s the bottom line.
Anyone else want to come with?”
Tyler stands a few feet away with his arms folded. It seems as though an invisible line has been drawn between the two of them.
Slowly, almost embarrassedly, a few brothers decide they want to go with Hetridge.
I’m not totally surprised at who the traitors are. Jared, a freshman with attitude; he’s good looking and always seems to have a new chick on his arm. Dirk, who everyone calls Dirk Diggler because he’s known for having a porn star sized member.
Reyes, one of the few Hispanic brothers. He’s always struck me as a slightly crazier (and Hispanic) version of Hetridge. And maybe the only real surprise of the group, Stutty.
He’s the oldest guy here and the least likely to be able to score a chick.
Plus, isn’t he married?
The traitorous brothers start the process of getting ready for a night on the town.
“I’m hitting the shower,” Hetridge says as loud as he can, glancing at Tyler.
“You do stink,” Tyler tells him, inhaling from his mammoth joint.
I laugh and Hetridge glares at me. “You going to be a pussy too, Gabe?”
“Dude, I just puked. I’m not in any condition to pull girls.”
“You wouldn’t go anyway. You need to stay here and stroke your boyfriend’s ego.”
“Just get in the shower and shut the fuck up,” Tyler says, blowing the acrid weed smoke out in a huge plume.
“Maybe when I’m done fucking tonight I’ll let you get my sloppy seconds, buddy.”
“Like I’d ever be caught dead with a two.”
“You’re right, Gabe is way better than a two. He’s got to be like a three at least.” Hetridge cackles and walks off to the bathroom for his shower.
The mood has changed now, and the levity has slowly seeped out of the room.
A few minutes before the group is set to leave for town, Neil comes over to me wearing a strangely solemn expression. “I’m going with Hetridge.”
“Why?”
“I feel like being around people besides brothers.”
“Whatever blows your hair back.”
“You’re not mad, are you?”
“We have every other day of our lives to go out to some dive bar and pick up girls. This is trip. It’s supposed to be about brothers, not getting laid.” Neil just looks away. “I guess you don’t want to come then.”
“No way.”
He gives me an enigmatic smile and then walks off to join the others.
***
It’s late when they get back. So late that I’m not even sure what time it is, only that I’ve been asleep for an unknown duration.
Time works differently on trip.
It all seems to blend together, day and night, early and late. The mixture of booze and drugs and the excitement creates a haze that sweeps through normal reality and fractures, twists—molding it into something new.
I startle awake disoriented. My mouth is dry and there’s a rotten taste, like stale beer and putrid meat.
I hear voices from upstairs, loud and raucous.
My room is dark and although Neil’s bed is standing empty next to me, there’s a few shadowy forms sleeping on the floor nearby.
I don’t have any idea what brothers are down here, and as I get unsteadily out of bed, I take care not to step on anyone. I cross the room, pull on my pants and walk out to the hallway.
Sounds like the boys are back from the bar. And it also sounds like they brought at least a couple of girls with them.
As far as I know, this is a trip first. Girls back at the cabin? Definitely a no-no.
I can hear laughter and voices being raised as I climb the steps, moving into the well lit upstairs.
I enter the kitchen, where the bulk of people seem to be hanging out. Hetridge has taken center-stage unsurprisingly, his arm over Neil’s shoulder as he tells some kind of story.
I see Neil holding a napkin to his lip, his face paler than usual.
“I’m like buddy, what is your problem?” Hetridge laughs, making a face. “Just because you’ve lived in the same town your whole life and your dad’s name is probably Jethro or Bubba or something, don’t be such a hater.” The three girls have their backs to me, so I can’t get a good look at what exactly the boys brought home with them.
Either way, it doesn’t matter much to me.
Hetridge spots me and grins. “Here’s our boy, right now. Mister Royce Gracie himself. If Gabe had been there, he probably would have wrapped up Jethro Junior in some kind of backward, flying triangle choke. Right buddy?” I laugh and shake my head as if I know what the hell he’s talking about. I wrestled some in high school but that’s about it. I’m certainly not a tough guy or some wannabe UFC fighter. In fact, I’m pretty much the opposite of that.
“What happened?” I ask as the girls turn and look at me.
Two of them are your standard townie bar chicks. Heavy makeup, tits on full display, big asses, even bigger hair.
But one of the girls is actually pretty darn cute. She’s short and petite, dark hair, dark brown eyes, and something about her is just striking. She wears an expression of bemusement but also weariness, as if she’s tired of watching dumb males try and show off in order to get her in bed.
“Your friends took over The Black Dog and then kidnapped us,” the pretty girl informs me.
“That’s the name of a bar or something?”
Hetridge shakes his head. “No, it’s a fucking Jewish Temple.”
“One of the locals took offence at us basically owning the place and popped Neil in the choppers,” Stutty tells me. Stutty’s eyes are bloodshot and he looks even more disheveled than usual.
“They always sniff out the weak link,” Reyes adds.
I glance at him. “Fuck off.”
I don’t like the way he always picks on Neil. Of course everyone picks on Neil, but with Reyes you get the feeling he’s only too happy to bring up Neil’s various quirks and make them out to be significant deficiencies.
“You okay man?” I say, giving Neil my attention.
He nods and smiles, with that mixture of insecurity and bravado I’ve grown so accustomed to. “I’m good. I love the taste of blood.” Hetridge pats him on the arm. “Especially his own.” Jared is trying to sweet talk one of the girls (I’ve started to think of them as the Big Ass Twins). She looks back at her friends as he drags her out of the kitchen by her hand. “Jared wants to show me something downstairs.”
“Yeah, his cock,” Stutty shouts after them in a slurred voice.
But she’s already gone by the time the words are out of his mouth.
“Sorry for the lack of class around here,” I tell the pretty girl. “I’m Gabe, by the way.”
“I’m Natasha.”
We smile at one another.
Hetridge sighs. Then he takes Natasha and me by the arm and begins walking with us away from the kitchen, leading us to the deck and then steps away. “Go on, get to know each other,” he says. “I give you my blessing.”
“Thanks, but we don’t need your blessing,” I call back to him. He’s already disappearing into the kitchen and doesn’t seem to care. Frankly, I’m just shocked that he seems to be trying to assist me in talking to her.
But more likely he’s just setting himself up for the easy layup with the Big Ass Twin.
I turn to Natasha, wondering if she’s wishing she’d never come here at this point.
“Sorry about all of this. It must suck to be the designated driver right about now.”
“It’s fine. I’m used to it, living around here. There’s pretty much nothing to do but drink and hang out at The Black Dog.”
“You hate it here?”
“It’s just small,” she says, moving to the railing and peering over the side.
I feel like I want to kiss her. Not sure why, or where this idea comes from, but the impulse is so overpowering that I clam up. How can I kiss her? I only just met this girl a few minutes ago.
The silence draws out. Natasha glances up at me, then starts looking past me into the house. “Maybe we should go back inside?”
“Yeah. Sure.” But I don’t want to go back inside. “But first let me ask you a question.”
“Shoot.”
“Are you dating anyone? Seeing anyone?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Just curious.”
She purses her lips and thinks about it. “I don’t know how to answer that.”
“It’s a simple question.”
But from the look on her face, I can tell that it really isn’t a simple question. For the first time, I see the beginning of a frown--there’s serious tension or worry there.
“There’s somebody…but…it’s complicated.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you or anything.” She glances over the railing again. Her eyes momentarily search the darkness.
“I’m not upset,” she says, but she can’t look at me when she says it. She sighs and slides a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m just dealing with a weird situation.”
“Bad breakup?”
“You could say that.”
I can tell she doesn’t want to go into it. At the same time, I don’t want to just go back inside with everyone else. This might be the only chance I have to really talk to her one-on-one. “I have a little trick I use to get rid of the unwanted stalker types.”
“Oh, you do? What’s your trick?”
“Just be boring.”
